


Not a People Person

by sneezehq (BunniesofDoom)



Series: Tumblr Requests [167]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fever, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunniesofDoom/pseuds/sneezehq
Summary: Seung-Gil Lee is not a people person. He never has been.
Relationships: Ji Guang-Hong & Lee Seung Gil, Lee Seung Gil & Min So Park, Phichit Chulanont & Lee Seung Gil
Series: Tumblr Requests [167]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1203751
Kudos: 5





	Not a People Person

**Author's Note:**

> Got a request for a sick Seung-Gil Lee ages ago and finally got around to filling it. This is set post-canon. Enjoy!

Seung-Gil Lee is not a people person. He never has been. He prefers to keep to himself, stick to his own thoughts rather than endure the incessant chatter of others. At competitions he's well known for his tendencies to avoid everyone, ignore the paparazzi, and keep to himself. The other skaters tend to respect his desire for solitude, mostly leaving him to his own devices—although he does find himself begrudgingly dragged into their shenanigans on occasion. For the most part, his competitors are friendly and polite to him when they interact, if a tiny bit awkward.

Today, more than ever, Seung-Gil finds himself immensely grateful that his fellow skaters tend to be too wrapped up in themselves to really pay him any mind, because—to put it inelegantly—he feels like crap. He had been feeling tired the past few days, with an off-and-on headache, but he'd chalked it up to nerves, even though he's generally not the type to let his anxiety get to him that much. But last night, he hadn't slept well, tossing and turning restlessly, alternating between huddling under the blankets and flinging them off when his body refuses to make up its mind on whether he's hot or cold.

He'd woken with a steady ache behind his eyes, somehow feeling more tired than when he went to bed. But he's skated through worse, and he refuses to let something as small as a fever stop him, especially after his less-than-optimal performance on the Grand Prix Circuit last year. So, when his coach asks him if he's okay, he nods stiffly at her and braces himself to tough it out for his short program. He methodically plans it out in his head: he'll take it slow with the warmup, stretching carefully in order to try to relax his stiff and aching body, make it through his short program, grin and bear it through the kiss and cry, and retreat back to his hotel room as soon as possible. If he turns in early and chugs lots of water, maybe he can kick this bug without too much of a fuss.

His plan goes fairly smoothly the next day, and he wakes up feeling slightly better the morning of the free skate. He decides to stick to the same routine for today in hopes of minimizing his risk of embarrassing incidents during the competition. Just one more day, he tells himself. He just needs to make it through today, tolerate the flight home, and then he can go back to his apartment, collapse into his bed, and sleep until this illness is just a distant memory. Surely, he can make it through one more day.

The free skate is grueling. It's difficult on a good day, full of tricky steps and technical maneuvers, and of course, jumps that aren't made any easier when you're doing them with a headache that leaves you lightheaded and dizzy, unsteady on the takeoff and the landing. But he pushes through anyway, finishing his routine with a triumphant flourish and proper poise like he's been trained to do, instead of collapsing on the ice and pressing his burning face to its blessedly cool surface like he so desperately wants to. Although he's still shaky on his feet, he makes it through the blinding lights and deafening cheers of the kiss and cry, and he allows himself to feel a bit of relief. He's made it.

But his hopes are shattered when the reporters follow him to the locker room, still watching him eagerly and shouting questions. The other skaters had taken to avoiding him, sensing that his mood was worse than normal, but he supposes that it's too much to expect these bumbling fools with cameras to do the same.

"Your performance today was truly impressive!" one of them calls after hi, scrambling after him with her microphone in hand. "How do you feel about your chances of making it to the finals this season?"

"No comment," he answers wearily, shutting the door firmly behind him and stumbling over to one of the benches as dark spots dance in front of his eyes. He sinks onto the wood just in time, forcing himself to take deep breaths and pressing his hands to his face. He'll stay here for just a few minutes, to catch his breath and steady himself a bit. Then he'll change out of his costume and get ready to leave. He just needs a few minutes.

Whatever Guang-Hong was expecting to find when he returned from the kiss and cry, it wasn't Seung-Gil Lee, slumped on one of the locker room benches with his head tipped back against the row of lockers behind him. He stops dead in his tracks, unsure of what to do.

"Ouch!" Behind him, Phichit had run into his back, not expecting his friend to stop so suddenly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry," he replies hastily, stepping out of the way. "I just—do you think he's okay? He's been kind of—well, you know."

"Even grumpier than usual?" Phichit supplies, snapping a picture of the sleeping skater on his phone.

Guang-Hong snatches the device out of his hands before he can post it. "Phichit, I'm serious! This isn't the time to be taking pictures. Doesn't he look flushed to you?"

"I guess," Phichit replies with a shrug, snagging his phone back. He does delete the picture though. "You think he's sick or something?"

"I dunno," Guang-Hong admits. "Something just doesn't seem right about this, y'know. He hasn't even yelled at us for being too loud or anything like that."

"You make a convincing point," Phichit muses, crossing the room and giving Seung-Gil's shoulder a tentative shake. "You okay man?"

Seung-Gil doesn't stir, even when Phichit shakes him more firmly. "He feels really warm. That's probably not good."

Guang-Hong paces anxiously. He's really not good in these types of situations. "Maybe we should get his coach?" he suggests timidly. "She'll probably know what to do."

Phichit looks immensely relieved. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll go get her, you stay here with him."

Seung-Gil's head is pounding when he reluctantly returns to consciousness. He's dimly aware of someone shaking his shoulder, and he pushes them away, grumbling. "Seung-Gil? Are you okay?"

Min-so. She sounds worried. He slowly opens his eyes to see her frowning at him. "How long have you been sick? And when were you planning on telling me about this?"

"A couple of days, maybe?" he says tiredly. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that bad. I figured I could just push through and sleep it off afterwards. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Well, you're burning up, and you look absolutely miserable, so I'll spare you the lecture for a little while," she says, smiling at him. "Now, let's get you out of here so you can rest."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment and leave kudos if you liked it.


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